


Cryptic

by Delphi



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Drama, M/M, Puzzles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-08
Updated: 2009-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes following the relationship of Professors Flitwick and Snape over nearly twenty years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cryptic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beth H (bethbethbeth)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethbethbeth/gifts).



**1\. Make an Ingenious Problem Archaically Intricate (6)**

A perfectly pleasant Sunday: a soft chair and a crossword puzzle. A cup of tea at hand. Colleagues quietly drifting through the staff lounge, exchanging good-mornings.

Mulling over 4-across, Filius espies their newest addition rummaging in the cupboards. An unusual choice for a new hire, perhaps, but it's not his place to wonder. It's nice to have some new blood.

Mr. Snape—Severus, that is—catches him looking and stills like a student caught trespassing. "Can I help you?"

He hiccoughs. "Oh, no, not unless you happen to know a seven-letter word for 'Bars from No. 30, re-spelt.'"

A blank look.

Filius waves his quill dismissively. "Don't mind me. I'm certain it will come eventu—"

"Spelter," Severus says abruptly and turns to doctor his coffee with sugar.

Filius blinks, then looks back at the squares. He tentatively fills them in and then proceeds to cross it with 'belladonna.' By the time he looks up to offer his thanks, Severus has already slipped out the door.

"Hm." He summons a dictionary from the bookcase, and as he flips to _S_, a delighted smile breaks free.

A soft chair is perfectly pleasant, but a new curiosity is pure pleasure.****

 

**2\. A Question Confined to Antique Rye (5)**

He remembers Severus the student as bright in that distinctly Slytherin way. Intellect with a purpose. It's the type who find their motivation in class ranking rather than passion for the subject; who perform far better in duels than in demonstrations. Severus shied away from the theoretical—though he seemed to have the mind for it—as if he feared becoming the centipede who forgot how to walk. Filius has seen it countless times in his years of teaching, among half-blood and muggleborn children.

Head of Ravenclaw or no, he does have his own sly streak. He doesn't want to be _manipulative_, of course, nothing of the sort. It's only that he's had no one with whom to share his love of games since Adonia retired.

Thus, the next Sunday in the staff lounge, he lures Severus to sit beside him on the pretence of discussing his classes. Then he makes the proposal he knows cannot be refused: "Why don't you take the acrosses and I'll take the downs, and we'll see who can finish first."

He watches as Severus swiftly pens in 'Merlin' for 'The wizard's bird,' and admires the shapely way he makes his _M_s.****

 

**3\. A Poser Arising from Unduly Ruminant Conversations (9)**

Severus comes and goes at odd hours. Filius suspects the only people who've noticed are Argus Filch and himself—the resident insomniac. It's his goblin ancestry; the dark makes him wakeful, and so he's often in the library or taking a constitutional when Severus comes sneaking in.

Back in September, he let his imagination run away with him and speculated that Severus might be some sort of spy, but those dark days have been over for months now and the absences continue unabated. Severus always looks very tired when he returns, but he doesn't smell of drink or smoke, and he's too unhappy for there to be a secret lover across the lake.

One night, Severus nearly trips over him coming in from the garden. He's red-eyed, and there's a dead leaf in his hair that Filius wishes he could reach.

"Another late night?"

Severus's mouth works as though he means to invent an excuse, but all he says is: "Yes."

His hands are mottled, and as much as Filius wants to ask, all he can do is take him by the wrist and ignore the faint protests.

"Now, now," he says. "Why don't I put the kettle on?"

 

**4\. A Selfless and Baffling Character—Imagine! (6)**

He can be slow.

It is the fifth time he drags Severus in for midnight tea. The poor boy is soaked to the skin, although it isn't raining anywhere for miles.

"I'll draw you a bath."

Severus frowns, plucking at a sodden sleeve. "I'll shower in my own apartments, thank you."

"No, you won't. You'll fall asleep in your clothes and catch a chill, and I won't be able to forgive myself." He proceeds to the bathroom and restores the tub to its manufactured size before filling it up. "Do you want bubbles?"

"_No._" Severus sidles in, crossing his arms with a faint squelch. "You'd better not be planning to watch."

Filius sits down on his step-stool, back turned. "I won't peek as long as you don't fall asleep."

His tone brooks no argument, and he hears Severus sigh, then the heavy sound of damp clothes falling. The quiet splash of water. A flannel being wrung out.

He can see a sliver of Severus's reflection in the mirror. Nothing untoward. Black hair and one pale shoulder.

And yet...he cannot look away, and his hands twitch as he wonders suddenly, breathlessly, what it would be like to touch him.

_Oh._ ****

 

**5\. Linking a Vague Notion to Madness (7)**

"Checkmate."

Severus's king is carried off flailing by a bishop.

Sometime in the last year, Severus ceased his disappearances, but they continue to meet as fellow restless sleepers. It's always his rooms; Severus guards his privacy fiercely, and Filius understands. This is not an easy place to be a man of twenty-three.

That number gives him pause. Arithmantically, it carries grand theories and paradoxes, but practically, it only means that Severus is young enough to be his great-grandson. Age is the easiest of all possible considerations to dwell on, and he picks at the thought of it like a half-healed wound.

He resets the board and watches Severus lean back in his chair and idly stroke his lower lip. He does wish he wouldn't do that.

Severus catches his gaze and seems to smirk—a tiny flicker at the corner of his mouth. It isn't a mean look, exactly. It isn't _exactly_ anything.

In one light it could be mockery. In another, self-satisfaction. Perhaps it's even a smile. He cannot guess, and attempting to follow the marvellous sharp left turns of Severus's thinking always seems to lead him back to where he started.

Severus inclines his head. "Your move."****

 

**6\. Inebriate Alexander's Legacy. Adoring? Negative (7,4)**

It's said the first quality to dissolve in alcohol is dignity.

To him, however, dignity has never had a place in the scholarly process. When he imagines the triumph of discovery, it is Archimedes running naked through the streets of Syracuse.

He and Severus are both slightly tipsy as they leave the New Year's Eve get-together and wander towards their respective rooms. They pause outside his door, and Filius knows how this will go: he will invite Severus in for a night-cap, and there will be baffling smiles, and perhaps Severus will fall trustingly asleep on his couch.

Two more threads gnarled for each he unravels.

And then he thinks, suddenly, drunkenly: must it really be so complicated?

"Do you—" he stammers, "—that is to say, would you have any interest at all in going to bed with me?"

He can hardly bear to look up until the answer comes.

"Some."

He steals a glance to find Severus's face flushed. "Some interest?"

"Yes."

He beams, quite warm all over, and takes Severus's hand and kisses it.

In the bedroom, in the dark, Severus's skin is hot and his mouth is eager and his touch is endearingly clumsy but generous.

Eureka.****

 

**7\. Illiterate Code for Silly Rubes (5)**

He keeps a strongbox, one with teeth. Inside is a collection of photographs and papers. Snapshots from holiday parties. The journals that Severus has published in. Their summer correspondence.

No one suspects, not even in the nudge-and-nod way that speculates on Minerva and Rolanda's arrangement or Argus's habit of bringing posies to the library. Severus is still a private creature, and discretion has its benefits.

"Besides," Severus says one evening, lounging half-dressed on his bed, "if the headmaster knew, he'd pry around in my head for all the sordid details."

"Legilimency?" At Severus's nod, he squeaks a laugh. "Oh, don't be silly. Albus would never use legilimency on a colleague. It's unethical."

Severus scowls and reaches for his robes. He doesn't like to be gainsaid.

Filius sighs quietly. "I feel like a cup of chocolate. Would you like one?"

"No." He's already in his boots and stomping to the door.

In times like these, Filius likes to open that strongbox and sort through the contents. He reads a letter from last summer, when he was away at the conference in Bern, and he lingers on the closing lines.

_The weather is loathsome and present company even loathsomer. _

_Yours, Severus Snape_ ****

 

**8\. Exchange One True Leader for a Thousand in the Middle—But How? (6)**

As abruptly as the disappearances ended, they begin again. It's one o'clock in the morning on a Thursday, and he's sitting in the rose garden when Severus turns up and mutely joins him on the bench.

"Where were you?"

Severus doesn't reply, but even in the dim moonlight, Filius can see his shoulders hunch.

He considers his next question carefully and speaks lightly. "Does Albus know where you go?"

"Yes."

He lets out a small, relieved breath. Gently, he takes hold of Severus's collar and pulls him down and kisses his forehead. "Come to bed."

The weather is turning, and he starts a fire when they reach his room. Severus paces, restlessly running his hand through his hair. Filius takes him by the sleeve and leads him into the bedroom, climbing up on the bed after him. He gives him a gentle shove. "Lie back."

Severus is quiet as he undresses him, but his skin warms quickly to the touch, and after a moment he reaches for Filius's buttons.

"I worry about you." He kisses Severus's lips, his throat, and the sharp line of his collarbone.

"Don't," Severus says flatly.

He jerks back.

"Don't worry." Severus draws him back down.****

 

**9\. Cryptographer D'Arcy Hides One Last Secret Message (6)**

On good days, he can imagine this is a hermitage and not a prison.

He has his books, and he has his puzzles, and thank goodness he has his students. He stays to protect them, even the children of his jailers—those ones most of all.

In the classroom, he makes the best of the new curriculum. In the common room, he puts on a brave face and organises spelling bees and trivia quizzes. Then, when he simply must, he returns to his empty rooms and empty bed; there are good days, but there are no good nights.

He maintains his subscription to the Daily Prophet and reads the propaganda with a keen eye. It fails to come one Sunday morning, and he briefly wonders if they've finally given up the pretence, but it appears on his desk after lunch. He sits down and turns to the crossword.

Curious.

A scribble in the margin: _Broken, idles if ordered (7)._

The letters slither behind his eyes.

"Fidelis," he breathes out softly.

He closes his eyes as the world rights itself just a little. It changes everything, and it changes nothing, and his heart breaks all over again. He burns the paper.****

 

**10\. The Fifth Man Is an Obscurity in Literary Circles (7)**

He hauls himself up into the armchair, hip twinging, and then pauses to catch his breath.

Good-mornings are exchanged with Aurora and Neville before he sets to, keeping an eye on the clock. It's a point of pride that he can still finish the Sunday crossword in the same time he could at one-hundred, but by ten o'clock the need for a nap wins out while he's mulling over 23-across. He sighs and lays the paper on his chest. His eyes drift shut, and the world falls away.

When he wakes, it's in a train station.

"Illusory," the man sitting next to him mutters.

Filius blinks and then looks down at his newspaper. 23-across. _Your ills will prove imaginary (8)_. "Ah, so it is. Thank you."

Something niggles at him. Where is he going? He turns, and his eyes widen in sudden understanding.

"Oh, my." He bursts into a smile. "You haven't aged a day."

The corner of Severus's mouth twitches. "That's generally how it works, yes."

"I missed you."

"I should hope so."

The train takes its time coming, but that's quite all right. There is no sweeter way to pass time than with a good puzzle and excellent company.

**Author's Note:**

> Solutions to the (dreadfully amateur) clues are: 1) Puzzle, 2) Query, 3) Conundrum, 4) Enigma, 5) Inkling, 6) Gordian Knot, 7) Rebus, 8) Riddle, 9) Cypher, 10) Mystery


End file.
